catchpenny venture, to secure which they are running the risk of injuring me more ways than one, and through me their own interests.  It seems to me shortsighted policy, but I cannot help myself.  After the play came home to supper, and at eleven went to Lady Dacre’s.  Sidney Smith, Rogers.  Conversation sharp.  Lots of people that I knew, in spite of which, in consequence, I suppose, of my own state of spirits, I did not enjoy myself.  Mrs. Norton was there; she sang “My Arab Steed,” and “Yes, Aunt,” and “Joe Hardy;” the latter I do not think very good.  They made me sing; I was horribly frightened.  Julian Young was there; his manner and appearance are not very good, but his voice is beautiful and he sang very well.

Sunday, 5th.—­ ...  When I came back from church I found Campbell with my mother, scraping up information about Mrs. Siddons for his and her “life.”  I left him with her, and when I came back he was gone, and in his place, as if he had turned into her, sat Mrs. Fitzgerald in a green velvet gown trimmed with sables, which excited my admiration and envy.  I should like to have been living in the days and countries where persons, as a mark of favor, took off their dress and threw it on your shoulders.  How pleasant it would have been!...

Just before going to bed I spoke of writing a preface to “Francis I.,” which brought on a discussion with my mother on the subject of that ill-fated piece, in the middle of which my father came in, and I summoned up courage to say something of what I felt about it, and how disagreeable it was to me to act in it, feeling as I did.  I do not think I can make them understand that I do not care a straw whether the piece dies and is damned the first night, or is cut up alive the next morning, but that I do care that, in spite of my protestations, it should be acted at all, and should be cut and cast in a manner that I totally disapprove of.

Monday, 6th.—­ ...  On our way to the theater my father told me that the whole cast of “Francis I.” is again turned topsy-turvy.  Patience of me!  I felt very cross, so I held my tongue.  Mr. and Miss Harness came home to supper with us, and had a long talk about “Francis I.,” my annoyance about which culminated, I am ashamed to say, in a fit of crying.

     Tuesday, 7th.—­So “Francis I.” is in the bills, I see....

Wednesday, 8th.—­ ...  At eleven “The Provoked Husband” was rehearsed in the saloon, and Mr. Meadows brought Carlo to see me. [Carlo was a splendid Newfoundland dog, which my friend, Mr. Drinkwater Meadows, used to bring to the theater to see me.  His solemnity, when he was desired to keep still while the rehearsal was going on, was magnificent, considering the stuff he must have thought it.] ...  After dinner went to the theater.  The house was bad; the play, “The Provoked Husband.”  I played ill in spite of my pink gauze gown, which is inestimable and as fresh as ever.